


Darling, Let me Stay

by Lucy_Ferrier



Series: InfraRed [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blind Character, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), blind!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Ferrier/pseuds/Lucy_Ferrier
Summary: Crowley was, by and large, pretty good at coping with the day to day stuff. It had been thousands of years, if he hadn’t figured out coping mechanisms by now, he never would.That didn’t mean that he didn’t have bad days....Crowley has a headache





	Darling, Let me Stay

**Author's Note:**

> *collapses* how much self-projection are we shoving into these characters? A lot, apparently.
> 
> this took way longer than it should have because of my own headaches, so yeah this is really just very self-indulgent.
> 
> again you should probably start with the previous fics in the series (or at least the first one) :)

Crowley was, by and large, pretty good at coping with the day to day stuff. It had been thousands of years, if he hadn’t figured out coping mechanisms by now, he never would.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t have bad days. Days where looking at anything even remotely warm caused pain to flare up behind his eyes and it felt like something had crawled into his sinus cavities and begun to outgrow the space, bleeding into his jaw and neck. Like his entire skull couldn’t decide if it wanted to explode or implode and he wanted to – very undemonically – burst into tears and curl up in the foetal position for a month or a century. These episodes were, for the most part, fairly unpredictable, and not altogether regular as such, but they did, unfortunately, seem to somewhat correlate with spending too much time with a certain very warm, very bright angel.

Aziraphale glowed like nothing else on Earth, bright hot and blindingly vibrantly white and it _hurt _to look directly look at him – a fact that his drunk self-seemed blissfully unaware of every time he removed his glasses (forget hangovers… post-binge-drinking Crowley regularly wanted to fight his drunk self for this very specific habit). Like looking directly into the sun or an explosion, looking at Aziraphale ended up making black spots dance across his already limited vision and the light cut through him like a knife.

It wasn’t always. But after going decades and centuries between meetings to just days apart, he couldn’t always keep up with the exposure – yet he could barely bring himself to stay away.

And now, after spending almost the entire week with little more than a few hours apart from the angel, Crowley’s head was _throbbing. _He had darkened his glasses to the point where they were seconds away from solid black, had the air conditioner cranked low enough that anyone else would have seen their breath condense in front of them, blackout curtains drawn over the few windows in an effort to remove any heat signatures from his apartment. The cold though, presented separate problems entirely, but this, this was something he’d figured out a trick for.

Lying curled up on his bed, Crowley miracled several thick blankets over the top of himself. There were enough layers that he was warm, but his own bright warm heat signature wasn’t leaking through past the second or third blanket. The room was blissfully black and the barest tinge of purple as Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to drift into sleep.

…

It had been days since he’d last seen the demon and Aziraphale was worried. Which really, he was sure he was being silly and perhaps it wasn’t worry so much as _loneliness _– a fact he was barely considering admitting to himself thank you very much, let alone anyone else – that drove him to seek out his friend after all of not-quite-a-week.

Crowley’s apartment, even after the night spent there post-Armageddon, was not a place the angel frequented all that much. It honestly wasn’t a place even Crowley himself frequented all that much – the aforementioned demon having become as much a part of the bookshop as the books themselves – so Aziraphale was not _entirely _sure why he thought he’d find his missing demon – friend? _Best _friend? Uriel had called him his boyfriend, but he felt that didn’t really encapsulate the worn down and carved out _comfort_ of their relationship. If Aziraphale very, _very _privately thought of Crowley as _husband… _that was entirely no one else’s business – in his own apartment.

The first thing Aziraphale noticed was the cold. His breath did indeed puff out in small clouds of steam in front of him and he poked his head into the front door – he _wasn’t _intruding uninvited, besides, Crowley barged into the bookshop uninvited (“uNinVitEd”) _all _the time to bother Aziraphale; it was only fair, really, that he return the sentiment. It had been a while since Aziraphale had been so acutely grateful for choosing to wear so many layers.

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale took the absence of a response as a personal invitation and ventured further into the freezing apartment. At the very least, even if Crowley wasn’t here, he could check on his plants for him.

…

Crowley had, as a matter of fact, heard Aziraphale call out – he could, as a matter of fact, have stated almost the exact moment Aziraphale had arrived outside his apartment, that angelic aura seeping in through the cold concrete walls. He was now, instead of answering, experimenting with the possibility of curling up into himself and disappearing, although he couldn’t quite commit himself to the idea. Eyes squeezed shut, he let out a rather sad and pathetic – _decidedly _undemonic – whimper of pain as Aziraphale pushed open his bedroom door.

…

“Oh _Crowley…” _

The demon was lying curled into himself in the corner of his rather large bed under several rather heavy-looking blankets staring determinedly at the wall with his back to Aziraphale.

“Crowley… is- is something wrong?”

Crowley let out a resigned sigh and stretched himself out slightly, still not turning over.

“…hurts.”

“What hurts dear?”

“Head. Happens sometimes.” He grunted.

“Oh… is there. I mean. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I need you to leave.” Crowley murmured in a small voice to his pillow.

Aziraphale blinked confusedly at Crowley’s back. “I’m sorry?”

“You. Being here. Hurts. You’re too… bright.” Aziraphale sensed rather than saw the beginnings of frustrated tears building up behind Crowley’s eyes. Attempting to cover up his own hurt Aziraphale opened his mouth to suggest waiting for him in another room before Crowley finally pulled himself dejectedly into a sitting position, shoulders hunched and staring pointedly at his lap. 

“Doesn’t matter. ‘Can practically see you glowing from fucking Paris anyway.” Goosebumps began to break out over the demon’s bare back and his shoulders had begun to shiver ever so slightly. Aziraphale fiddled with his ring.

“Do you want me to go?”

Crowley sighed. “…no…”

“What if… oh, lie back down, I want to try something. You can ask me to stop if you don’t like it.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow questioningly, but obeyed the request, lying back in his original position with his back to Aziraphale. The angel in question, brows furrowed ever so slightly, approached the bed. He thought he’d figured out Crowley’s trick with the blankets, so he pulled them back enough to slide himself underneath. Then, he took a small breath to calm his now building nerves and rolled over so his chest was pressed lightly to the small of Crowley’s back, and pulled the covers up over his head in an attempt to block out the light he apparently gave off that was causing Crowley such pain.

“Is this okay?” he asked, as he then snaked his arms gently around Crowley’s waist, and not-so-subtly buried his face against the demon’s spine.

“Mm… you’re warm.” Crowley hummed, his body giving an involuntary shudder. 

“Not too bright?” he checked, brushing a small kiss to Crowley’s shoulder blade.

“Maybe a little, but it’s okay now.” He replied, pushing back slightly into Aziraphale’s hold and tangling their leg together. Aziraphale continued to lightly kiss his way across Crowley’s shoulders comfortingly before sighing contently and tightening his hold minutely.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“S’not your fault angel.”

“Does this happen often?”

“Not that often.”

“Promise you’ll tell me next time this happens?”

“Course. I meant to this time, I just. Wasn’t thinking that well.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale replied, tracing Crowley’s navel idly, the demon now boneless against him. “You keep resting now.”

“You’ll stay?”

Aziraphale smiled against Crowley’s back. “As long as you need dear.”


End file.
